…Opening like a fissure in a porcelain sink: something too heavy dropped there by a child who had no business trying to balance all that weight. It will have to be replaced.

“Once” is broken. The lips start lying about it right at the O, meaning to say “What—” maybe or “When—” or “Wow, will you look at that?”

Put your hand there—over the fault. With your eyes closed, you can feel the tiny wind blowing through. Not static at all. Not still or fixed. Or fitted. The crack widens; the seams come apart and the whole house starts to fall through. Molecule by molecule. Memory by memory. Taking the future with it.

That future. The one that would have followed the cracking past. Drained through that gape in the sink. But here I am, still standing. Not too dissipated as far as I can tell. No more hair in the brush than usual. Which way should I look now?

In the beginning … This beginning—the Big Bang going off somewhere right now. Here maybe. A new world forming as we speak. The Kingdom gone with the house, say the Word and stars spill out—a free country of heaven. The Mother and Father no longer at odds. In love again even. The Daughter restored, equal to the Son.

Oh, that word. The one that booms and blooms and opens out, breezes past the crumbling houses, the sinks discarded by the side of the road, the cracks in the walls of history. Is now and ever shall be, world without end.

—KL Robyn 2010

* The title is taken from a line in “Tcheliabtraktrostroi Waltz,” a poem written in the aftermath of WWI, by Louis Aragon and translated by Nancy Cunard.
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